t t he rinity review trinity review 359...supper, pastor francis chan became the next to do so,...

Something to Consider: A Response to Francis Chan

and His Romish View of the Lord’s Supper By Timothy F. Kauffman

Every few years a prominent evangelical

announces that he wants to go back to worshiping

God the old-fashioned way, having discovered the

ancient liturgy of the apostolic church. On January

5, 2020, as he was preparing to celebrate the Lord’s

Supper, pastor Francis Chan became the next to do

so, confessing that until very recently, he had not

known that the center of the ancient liturgy was the

body and blood of Christ:

For 1500 years, it was never one guy and

his pulpit being the center of the church. It

was the body and blood of Christ. [And—

this was the real surprise to him—everyone

believed it was literally His body and

blood.] I didn’t know that for the first 1500

years of church history everyone saw it as

the literal body and blood of Christ. And it

wasn’t ‘til 500 years ago that someone

popularized the thought that it’s just a

symbol, and nothing more.… That’s

something to consider.1

Because there is so much countervailing evidence

against his claim, it suggests to us not that Chan has

discovered the ancient liturgy, but rather that he has

1 Chan, Francis, “The Body of Christ and Communion,”

January 6, 2020, May 26, 2020,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUUbXzb2atM.

credulously embraced the pedestrian talking points

of a typical Roman Catholic apologist.

A gullible Protestant will often fall headlong into

such a trap with neither knowledge of the facts nor

even a healthy, investigative curiosity to find out for

himself. Because Francis apparently lacks both, we

provide this helpful primer to equip him not only to

resist the claim, but also to correct the one making

it. We will review the scholars who, though

reluctantly, acknowledge the widespread and

enthusiastic embrace of symbolic language in the

early church; the testimony—explicit and implicit—

of the ancient writers themselves; the reasons the

scholars are constrained to downplay the evidence;

and finally, three of the most common fallacious

arguments used in support of the literal view, based

on Ignatius of Antioch (107 AD), Cyprian of

Carthage (253 AD), and Irenæus of Lyons (190 AD).

Together, these data lead to the unavoidable

conclusion that for the first three hundred years of

Christianity, the nonliteral, symbolic view of the

Lord’s Supper prevailed.

The Tacit Confession of the Scholars

The early church’s conviction that the consecrated

bread and wine were figures, similitudes, icons,

representations, symbols, images, examples,

types—or, in some cases, antitypes—of the body

and blood of Christ, may reasonably be inferred

from the animated attempts of the scholars to deny

it. We are assured, on their scholarly authority, that

THE TRINITY REVIEW For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare [are] not

fleshly but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts

itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ. And they will

be ready to punish all disobedience, when your obedience is fulfilled. (2 Corinthians 10:3-6)

Number 359 Copyright 2020 The Trinity Foundation Post Office Box 68, Unicoi, Tennessee 37692 July-October 2020

Email: [email protected] Website: www.trinityfoundation.org Telephone: 423.743.0199 Fax: 423.743.2005

The Trinity Review / July – October 2020

2

such language from the early writers ought to be

construed opposite its known meaning:

Adolph Harnack (1896): What we now-a-days

understand by “symbol” is a thing which is

not that which it represents; at that time

“symbol” denoted a thing which, in some kind

of way, really is what it signifies;2

Darwell Stone (1909): The question of the

meaning of such words in connection with the

Eucharist will recur again in a later period. It

may be sufficient here to express the warning

that to suppose that “symbol” in Clement of

Alexandria or “figure” in Tertullian must

mean the same as in modern speech would be

to assent to a line of thought which is gravely

misleading.3

Joseph Pohle (1917): For want of a more

accurate terminology, they often refer to the

sacramental species as “signs,” “types,”

“symbols,” or “figures.”4

Burton Scott Easton (1934): None of this

language, however, is “symbolic” in the

modern sense; … in the earlier Patristic period

the deeper nature of this connection was left

unexplored.5

J. N. D. Kelly (1977): Yet we should be

cautious about interpreting such expressions in

a modern fashion. According to ancient modes

of thought a mysterious relationship existed

between the thing symbolized and its symbol,

figure or type; the symbol in some sense was

the thing symbolized.6

2 Adolph Harnack, History of Dogma, Volume 2, translated

from the 3rd German edition, Neil Buchanan, translator, 1896,

144. 3 Darwell Stone, A History of the Doctrine of the Holy

Eucharist, Volume 1, 1909, 31. 4 Joseph Pohle, Dogmatic Theology, Volume 9, “The

Sacraments: A Dogmatic Treatment,” Volume 2, “The Holy

Eucharist” 2nd edition, 1917, 75. 5 The Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus, Burton Scott Easton,

translator, 1934, 94. 6 J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines, 5th edition. 2000,

212. Emphasis in original

These strident and dismissive cautions lead us to

suspect that there is more to the early writers’

symbolic, figurative, metaphorical language than

these scholars would prefer to admit. The casual

reader may therefore be forgiven for casting a

skeptical eye on their warnings.

It is evident by inspection that the ancient writers

were not in “want of a more accurate terminology,”

and knew very well the meaning of their words and

used them advisedly. Clement of Alexandria (198

AD) wrote that gold is “the symbol (σύμβολον) of

royalty”7 and the crown “is the symbol (σύμβολον)

of untroubled tranquility” (Pædagogus, 2, 8).8 With

his expansive vocabulary, Clement analyzed the

allegorical, metaphorical, symbolic, tropish and

enigmatic sayings of the Barbarians and Greeks,

comparing them against the “first principles” and

“truth” they represented: “…both Barbarians and

Greeks, have veiled the first principles of things,

and delivered the truth in enigmas (αίνίγμασι), and

symbols (συμβόλοις), and allegories (ἀλληγορίαις),

and metaphors (μεταφοραῖς), and such like tropes

(τρόποις),”9 (Stromata, 5, 4).10 Tertullian of

Carthage (208 AD) explicitly contrasted the figure

and image with the truth it was intended to

represent, stating with a clear illustration that the

figure is not the reality:

And, indeed, if all are figure (figuræ), where

will be that of which they are the figures

(figuræ)? How can you hold up a mirror for

your face, if the face nowhere exists? But, in

truth, all are not figures (imagines), but there

are also literal statements (veritates)” (De

resurrectione carnis, 20).11

7 Jacques-Paul Migne, Patrologiae Cursus Completus, (PG

hereafter), 1856-1857, 85 volumes, Volume 8, Column 469. 8 Migne, PG, 8:484. 9 Migne, PG, 9:41. 10 Unless otherwise notes, English translations of the Early

Church Fathers are cited from The Ante-Nicene Fathers:

Translations of the Writings of the Fathers Down to AD 325,

edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, 10

volumes, 1885–1887, and A Select Library of Nicene and

Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, edited by Philip

Schaff and Henry Wace. 28 volumes in 2 series, 1886–1889. 11 Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologia Latina (PL). 221 volumes,

1844-1855, Volume 2, Column 821.


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In a second century manuscript the term

“antitype” is used the same way it is in Hebrews

9:24 in which the earthly temple is but a copy

(ἀντίτυπον), a “pattern” (Hebrews 9:23), a

“shadow” (Hebrews 8:5) of the true temple in

heaven. The copy (ἀντίτυπον) is contrasted with the

authentic (αυθεντικον) and is notably inferior to it:

“No one then who corrupts the copy (ἀντίτυπον),

shall partake of the original (αυθεντικον)”12 (2

Clement 14)§ An ancient writer, Adamantius (c. 300

AD) implores his listener to take heed as he explains

the difference between the image (εικόνος), the

figure (σχήματος) and truth (ἀληθείας).13 These

early writers freely contrasted the symbol with the

reality, the figure with the truth, the antitype with

the authentic, and the nonliteral trope with the

literal meaning behind it.

In the face of this ancient evidence, are we to

understand, as the scholars suggest, that Clement

believed gold is really the royalty, and the crown

really the tranquility? Are we to take Tertullian to

mean that the figure is literally the thing it figures,

ignoring his emphatic plea contrary? Are we to

understand “antitype” to refer to the reality, rather

than the copy, the pattern, the shadow, knowing full

well how the term was used in antiquity—indeed,

even in the Scriptures? Are symbols, figures,

likenesses, images, metaphors, allegories, tropes,

enigmas, images, and antitypes such mysteries to

the layman that he cannot understand antiquity

without liberal, anglo-Catholic and Roman

apologists to redact and revise it for him? The

scholarly warnings about the use of figurative

language are more indicative of their own

desperation than any deficiency in the vocabularies

of these ancient writers.

The scholars’ desperation is on full display when

Stone claims that Tertullian used figura to refer to

the truth, the reality, the substance and essence of

Christ’s spoken words, not just a mere allegory:

“He says that our Lord made known to the Apostles

12 Of unknown authorship, once attributed to Clement of

Rome. § Remarkably, other translations intentionally suppress the

distinction between that which is antitypical and that which is

authentic: “no one, therefore, having corrupted the type, will

receive afterwards the antitype.” (The Ante-Nicene Fathers:

Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to AD 325,

Volume 9, Allan Menzies, D.D., editor, 1896, 255.) 13 Adamantius, Dialogue 5, 6 (Migne PG, 9:1840).

‘the form (figura) of his voice’.”14 The reference is

to Tertullian’s Scorpiace, and we could scarcely ask

for a more apt illustration of the poverty of Stone’s

hypothesis. Tertullian had used figuram vocis to

describe Christ’s parables (Mark 4:11; compare

Matthew 13:11, Luke 8:10), His “figure of speech.”

Tertullian commends his reader to the writings of

the Apostles where Christ’s parabolic lessons, His

“veiled” language, His “figuram vocis”15 is unveiled

to us (Scorpiace, 12). Christ’s “figures of speech”

require unveiling precisely because they are not

literal statements, and Tertullian had used “figure of

speech” in exactly the same way we do today.

Strain though they might, the much-exercised

scholars have tacitly revealed something important

about the early Church, and the attentive reader is

invited to take note of it: the early church writers so

frequently, so liberally, so enthusiastically

embraced symbolic, figurative, metaphorical,

allegorical, typical, and antitypical language to

describe the Supper, that the scholars have been

forced into tortuous explanations to deny what they

plainly meant by it.

The Explicit Evidence from Antiquity

Having heard from the scholars how frequently the

early writers employed distinctively nonliteral

terminology for the consecrated elements, we turn

now to the words of the writers themselves. We

limit our evidence to the first three centuries of

Christianity in order to show at once that for 1,500

years “everyone” did not believe the bread and wine

were the literal body and blood of Christ and, that

the symbolic language for the consecrated bread

and wine was not a 16th century novelty.

Irenæus of Lyons (190 AD)

Irenæus refers to “the bread the body of Christ, and

the cup the blood of Christ” as “these antitypes

(ἀντίτυπον)” 16 (Fragment 37).

Clement of Alexandria (202 AD)

“Elsewhere the Lord, in the Gospel according to

John, brought this out by symbols (συμβόλων),

when He said: ‘Eat my flesh, and drink my blood;’

describing distinctly by metaphor (lit. allegory,

14 Stone, 30-31. 15 Migne, PL, 2:146. 16 Migne, PG, 7:1253. N.B.: fragment 38 in Migne.


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ἀλληγορὤν) the drinkable properties of faith.…”17

(Pædagogus, 1, 6)

Tertullian of Carthage (208 AD)

“Then, having taken the bread and given it to His

disciples, He made it His own body, by saying,

‘This is my body,’ that is, the figure (figura) of my

body”18 (Adversus Marcionem, 4, 40).

Hippolytus of Rome (215 AD)

The Greek original of Hippolytus’ instructions on

the thank offerings and the Supper is no longer

extant, but the Verona Latin fragments helpfully

preserve both the Latin translation and a Latin

transliteration of the Greek. At the thank offering,

prior to the blessing, the bread is called an example,

“exemplum,” of the body of Christ, or in Greek

“antitypum.” The wine is called an antitype,

“antitypum,” of the blood of Christ, or in Greek,

“similitudinem.”19 Yet, even after the consecration,

the communicant is instructed to receive “the image

(antitypum)20 of the blood of Christ” (Anaphora

32).21

Origen of Alexandria (248 AD)

“…it is not the material of the bread but the word

which is said over it which is of advantage to him

who eats it not unworthily of the Lord. And these

things indeed are said of the typical (τυπικοῦ) and

symbolic (συμβολικοῦ) body”22 (Commentary on

Matthew, 11, 14).

Adamantius (c. 300 AD)

“If, as these say, He was fleshless and bloodless, of

what flesh or of what blood was it that He gave the

images (εικόνας)23 in the bread and the cup, when

He commanded the disciples to make the memorial

of Him by means of these?” (Dialogue 5, 6) 24

Eusebius of Cæsarea (325 AD)

17 Migne, PG, 8:296. 18 Migne PL, 2:460. 19 Didascaliae Apostolorum Fragmenta Veronensia Latina, D.

Hauler, translator, 1900, 112. 20 Hauler, 117. 21 Easton, 60. 22 Migne PG, 13:952. 23 Migne PG, 11:1840. 24 English translation by Stone, 62.

“Yea, and perfect services were conducted by the

prelates, the sacred rites being solemnized, … and

the mysterious symbols (σύμβολα) of the Saviour’s

passion were dispensed”25 (Historia Ecclesiastica,

10.3.3).

“…we have received a memorial of this offering

which we celebrate on a table by means of symbols

(σύμβολων) of His Body and saving Blood”26

(Demonstratio Evangelica, 1.10).27

“…the wine which was indeed the symbol

(σύμβολον)28 of His blood…He gave Himself the

symbols (σύμβολα) of His divine dispensation to

His disciples, when He bade them make the likeness

(εικόνα) of His own Body.… bread to use as the

symbol (σύμβολω) of His Body”29 (Demonstratio

Evangelica, 8.1).30

Cyril of Jerusalem (350 AD)

“Wherefore with full assurance let us partake as of

the Body and Blood of Christ: for in the figure

(τύπω) of bread is given to you His body, and in the

figure (τύπω) of wine His blood.”31 (Catechetical

Lecture 22, 3)

“Trust not the judgment to your bodily palate no,

but to faith unfaltering; for they who taste are

bidden to taste, not bread and wine, but the anti-

typical (ἀντίτυπου) Body and Blood of Christ.”32

(Catechetical Lecture 23, 20)

Sarapion of Thmuis (353 AD)

“This bread is the likeness (ομοίωμα) of the holy

Body, ... the cup, the likeness of the Blood, for the

Lord Jesus Christ, taking a cup after supper, said to

his own disciples, ‘Take, drink, this is the new

25 Migne PG, 20:848. 26 Migne PG, 22:89. 27 Translations of Christian Literature, Series I Greek Texts

“Demonstratio Evangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea” W. J.

Ferrar, translator, 1920. 28 Migne PG, 22:593. 29 Migne PG, 22:596. 30 Ferrar, 114-115. 31 Migne PG, 33:1100. 32 Migne PG, 33:1124.


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covenant, which is my Blood,’ …” (Eucharistic

Anaphora).33

Gregory of Nazianzen (361-381 AD)

In his preparation for the Supper, Gregory refers to

the unconsecrated elements using the language of

symbolism, calling them “the antitype (ἀντίτυπον)

of the great mysteries”34 (Oration 2, paragraph 95),

but also uses figurative language even after the

consecration: “Now we will partake of a Passover

which is still typical (τυπικώς); though it is plainer

than the old one…”35 (Oration 45, paragraph 23).

Macarius the Egyptian (390 AD)

The consecrated bread and wine are “the symbol

(ἀντίτυπον) of His flesh and blood, … those who

partake of the visible bread eat spiritually the flesh

of the Lord…”36 (Homily 27, 17).37

There are many other early writers who testify of

the symbolic nature of the consecrated elements, but

these are among the earliest and suffice to disprove

any claim of a universal belief in the literal body

and blood of Christ in the Supper since the

Apostles. These same writers argued against the

unbelief of the Jews on the one hand, and the

idolatry of the pagans on the other, all while

deconstructing the complex worldviews of the

Gnostics and Philosophers. It is inconceivable to lay

at their feet the charge of an insufficient vocabulary,

or that they had left “unexplored” the mysterious

connection between the symbol and what is

symbolized. They knew very well what these words

meant and knew exactly why they were using them.

The bread and wine were symbolic of Jesus’

incarnation, remembrances of His sufferings for our

sins, typical, figurative, sensory objects intended to

stimulate our senses and bring to mind the reality of

His incarnation. If these men had truly understood

that the bread and wine were literally, really, truly

changed into the body and blood of Christ, their

33 Bishop Sarapion’s Prayerbook: An Egyptian Pontifical

Dated Probably about AD 350 – 356, J. Wordsworth, D.D.,

editor, 1899, 62-63. 34 Migne, PG, 35:497. 35 Migne, PG, 36:656. 36 Migne, PG, 34:705. 37 Fifty Spiritual Homilies of St. Macarius the Egyptian, A. J.

Mason, translator, 1921, 209.

sophisticated vocabularies were more than equal to

the task of explaining and defending that belief to

us in their own languages. Yet they used figure,

antitype, example, similitude in Latin, and antitype,

symbol, allegory, icon, likeness and type in Greek.

None of them would have denied that the bread and

wine were spiritually the body and blood of Christ

to us by faith. In fact, they insisted upon it. What is

lacking in the ancient church is a confession from

any of them that it was literally, truly His body and

blood.

The Implicit Evidence from Antiquity

In addition to the explicit testimony of the early

writers, we have implicit evidence, as well. They

expressed themselves through teachings and

practices that were wholly inconsistent with a deep,

abiding conviction of the real, literal presence of

Christ in the bread and wine.

Kneeling to receive the Supper was forbidden

A posture of kneeling would seem appropriate in

the literal presence of Christ, as suggested by

Revelation 1:17 and 5:8. The modern Roman

Catholic liturgy incorporates a kneeling posture for

the consecration of the bread and wine, and a

genuflection—bending of the knee—to adore the

“real presence” of Christ during the Lord’s Supper.

Such a posture is used to reverence the consecrated

bread in the tabernacle, as well. Yet that practice

was forbidden in the early church. Irenæus wrote

that Christians “do not bend the knee” on Pentecost

“because it is of equal significance with the Lord’s

day” (Fragment 7). Tertullian considered “kneeling

in worship on the Lord’s day to be unlawful,” and

similarly for every day from Easter to Pentecost (De

Corona, 3). The Council of Nicæa established

uniformity of worship by prohibiting kneeling on

the Lord’s Day (Canon 20). The 20th canon of

Nicæa was affirmed explicitly or incorporated by

reference at every ecumenical council thereafter

until kneeling was finally incorporated into the

liturgy in the 11th century.38 If the “real presence of

38 The Catholic Catechism explains that “the Elevation” of the

Eucharist for adoration during the Mass, and “kneeling during

Consecration” are “of comparatively recent introduction”

(“Elevation,” The Catholica Encyclopedia, Volume 5, Robert

Appleton Company, 1909, 380, and “Genuflexion,” in Volume

6, 424).


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Christ” was the universal conviction of the Church

for 1,500 years, it seems that kneeling to receive

communion ought to have been required rather than

forbidden on the one day all Christians gathered

together to consecrate the bread and wine. And yet,

for a thousand years, kneeling on that day was

prohibited.

Christ Was Not in the Cup the Night Before He

Died

Cyprian of Carthage’s figurative language is evident

in his 62nd letter (253 AD). He writes that Christ is

made one with His people “when the water is

mingled* in the cup with wine,” a mingling that

occurred before the consecration (Epistle 62, 13).

Obviously, Christ is not “really” in the cup before

the consecration. Cyprian is speaking figuratively.

He then insists that Jesus’ “disciples ought also to

observe and to do the same things which the Master

both taught and did,” having in their cup for the

Supper exactly what Jesus had in His (Epistle 62,

10), so that what is consecrated is what Jesus

Himself consecrated the night before He died. Jesus

used wine. So ought we. Cyprian removes all doubt

when he writes that Christ could not have had His

own blood in the cup the night before He died,

“because just as the drinking of wine cannot be

attained to unless the bunch of grapes be first

trodden and pressed, so neither could we drink the

blood of Christ unless Christ had first been

trampled upon and pressed” (Epistle 62, 7,

emphasis added). To Cyprian, even after the wine is

consecrated, Christ still is not “really” in the cup. If

we must celebrate in the same way Christ did, and

Christ’s blood was not in the cup when the Supper

was instituted, then Cyprian clearly did not believe

in the “real presence” of Christ in the Supper.

The Invocation Does Not “Literally” Change the

Thing

In Cyril of Jerusalem’s explanations (350 AD) of the

supper and of baptism, the change that occurs at the

invocation was a trope (τρόπον), a figure of speech,

a metaphorical turn of phrase not intended to be

taken literally. The Scriptures use the term this way:

Jesus says of Jerusalem that He would have

* See our article Recovering Irenæus, The Trinity Review,

January-March 2019 for an explanation of the ancient practice

of mixing merum with water to make wine.

“gathered thy children together, as (τρόπον) a hen

doth gather her brood” (Luke 13:34), and Paul

writes that lovers of self will “resist the truth” in the

last days, just “as (τρόπον) Jannes and Jambres

withstood Moses” (2 Timothy 3:8). The elements of

the supper were indeed “simple bread and wine”

beforehand, Cyril taught, but “after the invocation

the Bread becomes the Body of Christ, and the

Wine the Blood of Christ.” The same was true of

meats sacrificed to idols: “so in like manner

(τρόπον) such meats belonging to the pomp of

Satan, though in their own nature simple, become

profane by the invocation of the evil spirit”39

(Catechetical Lecture 23, 7). There had been no

change in the meats at the invocation of an evil

spirit, except a change in their use, from simple to

profane. The bread and wine of the Supper were

changed “in like manner” at the invocation, from

simple use to holy. There was no real change in the

bread or the meat itself.

The same was true of the oil and water applied to

the convert at baptism. The oil “was a symbol

(σύμβολον)” of his participation with Christ, and the

water of baptism was “hinting at a symbol

(συμβόλου)”40 of his burial with Christ, for baptism

itself was the antitype (ἀντίτυπον) of the sufferings

of Christ.41 Cyril insisted, on Paul’s authority, that

baptism was not really Christ’s death, but only a

likeness (ὁμοίωματι) of it (Catechetical Lecture 20,

2-7). Just like the bread after the invocation “is

mere bread no longer,” so the oil used in baptism,

“after invocation” is no longer “simple” or

“common,” and “is symbolically (συμβολικὤς)

applied to your forehead”42 (Catechetical Lecture

21, 3).

Cyril repeatedly emphasized that the “change” of

the meat, the bread, the oil, and the water was not

real, or literal, but only symbolic. A trope. A figure

of speech not to be taken literally. And thus, water,

oil, wine, and bread, though repurposed for holy

uses, were still “antitypical” even after the

invocation. If the bread of the Supper was changed

in the same way as the meats offered to idols, or in

the same way as the water and oil used in baptism,

39 Migne, PG, 33:1072. 40 Migne, PG, 33:1080. 41 Migne, PG, 33:1081. 42 Migne, PG, 33:1092.


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then the bread of the Supper was not really changed

at all, except in the way it was used.

The Elements Were Handled with Care Because of

Whom They Symbolized

Hippolytus of Rome (215 AD) warned the

communicant not to drop the consecrated bread,

“for the body of Christ…must not be despised,” and

of the cup, “let none of it be spilled…as if thou

didst despise it” (Anaphora, 32).43 Yet, as he

himself said, the consecrated bread and wine were

antitypical of the body and blood of Christ.

Origen of Alexandria (248 AD) instructed

catechumens to handle the consecrated elements

reverently: “when you receive the body of the

Lord…you protect it with all caution and veneration

lest any part fall from it, lest anything of the

consecrated gift be lost” (Origen, 13th Homily on

Exodus). Yet, as noted above, Origen believed the

consecrated bread and wine were typical and

symbolic of the body of Christ.

Cyril of Jerusalem (350 AD) instructed

inexperienced communicants to handle the

consecrated elements carefully, fingers together,

hollowed palm, the left hand forming a throne for

the right to receive, as it were, “a king” or precious

“grains of gold,” taking the cup, not reaching out

with arms extended, but worshipfully and

respectfully (Catechetical Lecture 23, 21-22). He

spoke as to children, to novices, to first-time

communicants, about spilling the bread and wine,

obviously concerned that they “[give] heed lest you

lose any portion thereof” when handling the bread

and wine on the day of their first communion. Yet,

as noted above, Cyril thought the consecrated bread

and wine were figuratively and antitypically the

body and blood of Christ.

In these examples—from Hippolytus, Origen, and

Cyril—the careful handling of the elements is

understood in the context of their explicit words

about the symbolic, typical, exemplary, and

antitypical nature of the bread and wine. We may

reasonably conclude that their concern was for

Whom they signified, not for what they were. Such

a conclusion is warranted in view of Cyril’s

instruction to touch the bread to one’s eyelids

before eating, and to moisten one’s eyes, ears, nose

43 Easton, 60.

and forehead before drinking: “hallow your eyes by

the touch of the Holy Body” (Catechetical Lecture

23, 21), and “while the moisture is still upon your

lips, touch it with your hands, and hallow your eyes

and brow and the other organs of sense”

(Catechetical Lecture 23, 22). Smearing the body

and blood of Christ on your face as you eat and

drink it is hardly indicative of a sincere belief in the

“real presence.” Engaging one’s senses during

communion, however, is evidence of a belief in the

symbolic nature of the bread and wine—sensible

reminders of the incarnation for which all of one’s

faculties are brought to bear on the meaning of the

symbol itself. This is confirmed for us by Tertullian,

who also believed the consecrated elements to be

figurative. Yet he displayed the same care for

unconsecrated elements: “We feel pained should

any wine or bread, even though our own, should be

cast upon the ground” (Tertullian, De Corona, 3). If

Tertullian feared to spill unconsecrated bread and

wine merely because of Whom they could signify,

we may reasonably understand Hippolytus, Origen,

and Cyril to insist on the careful, reverent handling

of consecrated elements because of Whom they did

signify.

The Failure of the Scholars

In light of the abundance of explicit and implicit

evidence from the early Church, one may justifiably

wonder why the scholars were inclined to kick so

strenuously against the goad. It not only hampered

their own investigation into the early liturgy, but

also obscured the terrain for those who would

follow after them. Their self-inflicted wound was

caused by a propensity for interpreting the early

writers through a medieval lens. If the later

paradigm of a literal or physical “presence” of

Christ is definitive, then the early record becomes

extremely challenging because its authors held no

such belief, exasperating the medieval divines with

a superabundance of symbolic, figurative language.

As such, their works must be reinterpreted,

controverted, or even redacted to force them to

conform with the later novelties. The alternative is

to view the early writers through the lens of their

own time and writings, leading the objective

historian to the obvious conclusion that the Roman

Catholic doctrine of the “real presence” is itself the

novelty, devoid of apostolic authority. The former


8

requires an intentional misinterpretation of the early

church, normalizing the medieval liturgy, and

leading to the obviously misguided claim of Francis

Chan and the apologists who persuaded him. The

latter requires a wholesale re-evaluation of the

medieval liturgy, and frankly calls into question the

validity of some Protestant liturgies that were

derived from it.

Of those two paths, the former is well-traveled

and easy to find, and by and large the ecclesiastical

scholars have preferred it. John of Damascus (726

AD) from his medieval perspective, could not accept

that early writers had called the bread and wine

antitypes even after the consecration, and

gratuitously overturned the explicit testimony of the

ancients: “if some persons called the bread and the

wine antitypes of the body and blood of the

Lord…they said so not after the consecration but

before the consecration…” (Exact Exposition of the

Orthodox Faith, 4:13). His claim is obviously false.

W. Wigan Harvey (1857 AD) could not accept Justin

Martyr’s 2nd century testimony that the mere

recitation of Christ’s words—“This is My body”—

effected the consecration (First Apology, 65), so he

interpreted him instead through the lens of late-4th

century Basil (364 AD) who “stated expressly” that

the consecration had to be “something more than

the simple words of Scripture.” On that basis

Harvey overturned Irenæus’ own Greek description

of the tithe offering and opted instead for an inferior

Latin rendering more consistent with the

consecration.44 For the same reason Jacques Paul

Migne (1857 AD) rejected Irenæus’ own account of

the 2nd liturgy, substituting a “preferred” medieval

wording more consistent with the later novelty.45

Phillip Schaff (1894 AD) believed “the full

explanation” of Irenæus’ Eucharist could only be

found in the meanderings of late-4th century

Gregory of Nyssa (382 AD), and reinterpreted

Irenæus accordingly.46 These examples illustrate a

habitual, systematic redaction of the early liturgy to

make it conform to the superstitious medieval

liturgy that eventually replaced it. A principled

44 Harvey, W. Wigan, Sancti Irenæi Episcopi Lugdunensis,

Libros Quinque Contra Haereses, Volume 2, 1857, 205n,

206n. Wigan refers to Basil, De Spiritu Sancto, 66. 45 Migne, PG, 7:1028n. 46 NPNF-02, volume 7. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace,

editors, Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1894, xxxix.

approach would have prohibited such tampering,

but the scholars were faced with an unpalatable

choice between two unattractive options, and so

took the path of least resistance.

Correcting Fallacious Arguments

The unbeaten path is less obvious to the naked eye,

but much more satisfying to the intellect, and at the

same time exposes the lie that the literal, actual,

“real presence” of Christ in the Supper was held

universally until the Reformation. The truth is, for

the first three centuries, the nonliteral, symbolic

understanding of the Supper prevailed. To that end,

we now revisit three of the most common

misinterpretations of the early writers,

demonstrating how the scholars have corrupted the

evidence through anachronism, misconstrual, and

redaction.

The Anachronistic “Evidence” from Ignatius of

Antioch (107 AD)

Of all the evidence supporting an ancient belief in

the literal presence of Christ in the Supper, the most

popular is Ignatius’ Letter to the Smyrnæans. The

heretics “abstain from the Eucharist and from

prayer, because they confess not the Eucharist to be

the flesh of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which suffered

for our sins” (Smyrnæans, 7). Ignatius appears to

provide early 2nd century support for the central

tenet of the Roman religion, and her apologists

could scarcely ask for a more generous gift from

antiquity. Ignatius’ words, however, can only

support the “literal” presence of Christ if they are

interpreted through a medieval lens by which “the

Eucharist” is taken to refer to the elements after the

consecration. But in Ignatius’ day, the Eucharist

referred to the thank offering, the tithes and prayers

offered prior to the consecration, a tithe that

included bread from which a portion was taken for

the celebration of the Supper. That subtle difference

in the usage of “Eucharist” is determinative, as a

little history will show.

Through the prophet Malachi, the Lord

condemned the unacceptable burnt offerings of the

Jews, foretelling a day when “in every place incense

shall be offered unto my name, and a pure

offering…among the heathen” (Malachi 1:10-11).

The apostles left instructions that sacrifices must

and would continue under the New Covenant, but


9

these new sacrifices would take the forms of

“praise…the fruit of our lips giving thanks”

(Hebrews 13:15), doing good works and sharing

with others (Hebrews 13:16), “spiritual sacrifices”

(1 Peter 2:5), providing for those in need

(Philippians 4:18), and “your bodies a living

sacrifice” (Romans 12:1). Such sacrifices are “holy”

and “acceptable” (Romans 12:1, 1 Peter 2:5) and

well-pleasing to the Lord (Philippians 4:18,

Hebrews 13:16). A new temple of living stones had

been constructed so that these new sacrifices would

continue (1 Peter 2:5).

The early church understood these apostolic

instructions as a fulfillment of Malachi’s prophecy,

and included thank offerings—the Eucharist,

εὐχαριστία—in the liturgy. The Sunday gathering

was the venue for those offerings, as tithes of the

harvest were collected and distributed to “orphans

and widows and…all who are in need” (Justin

Martyr, First Apology, 67). According to Irenæus

“the very oblations” of the Church consisted of the

tithes of the Lord’s people, and Christians “set aside

all their possessions for the Lord’s purposes,” just

as the widow had in the Gospels (Mark 12:42, Luke

21:2) (Against Heresies, 4, 18.2), “offering the first-

fruits” to care for the needy (Against Heresies, 4,

18.4), hungry, thirsty, naked, and poor (Against

Heresies, 4, 17.6). The sacrifice of Malachi 1:11

was fulfilled in thanksgiving, “a joyful noise,”

“praise and prayer” (Athanasius, Festal Letter, 11)

when we “take up our sacrifices, observing

distribution to the poor” (Festal Letter, 45). What

these early writers were describing is an offering of

the first fruits with thanks. “The Eucharist and

prayer.” The tithe.

On the day of their baptism, catechumens were at

last eligible to contribute, and were thus instructed

to bring their own Eucharist with them for the

oblation (Hippolytus, Anaphora, 20)47—bread,

wine, oil, cheese, or olives (Hippolytus, Anaphora,

4, 5, 6)48 or oxen, sheep, “a batch of dough,” and “a

jar of wine or of oil” (Didache, 13). The purpose of

“the Eucharist of the oblation” was to “share it with

strangers” for which reason the Eucharist was to be

brought “to the bishop for the entertainment of all

47 Easton, 45. 48 Easton, 35-37.

strangers” (Didascalia, 9).49 The gift we offer to

God is “our prayer and our Eucharist” (Didascalia,

11).50 Origen wrote that “we have a symbol of

gratitude to God in the bread which we call the

Eucharist” (Against Celsus, 8, 57). The Eucharist of

the early church was in fact the tithe offered with

prayers, before the consecration.

Early in the sub-apostolic church, the consecration

was a simple recitation of Christ’s words—“this is

my body, which is broken” (1 Corinthians 11:24)

and “this is my blood…which is shed” (Matthew

26:28)—as attested by Justin (First Apology, 66),

Irenæus (Against Heresies, 4, 17.5, 5, 2.3), Clement

(Paedagogus, 2.2), and Tertullian (Against

Marcion, 4, 40). It was common for bread from the

Eucharist to be distributed into the hands of the

recipient before the consecration was even spoken,

as attested by all four Gospel accounts, and by

Justin Martyr (First Apology, 65), Tertullian

(Against Marcion, 4, 40), Origen (Against Celsus, 8,

33) and Cornelius, Bishop of Rome (Eusebius,

Church History, 6, 43.18-19). Because the bread

was still “the Eucharist” when it was distributed,

having not yet been consecrated, the Supper was

often called by the same name.

Ignatius’ liturgy may therefore be summed up as

follows: a Eucharistic offering of prayers and a

tithe for the widow, the orphan, and the poor. Some

of the bread taken from the still unconsecrated

Eucharist is distributed to those present. Participants

take the unconsecrated Eucharist in hand, and

together pronounced the ancient consecration over

it—“This is my body, broken.” The heretics who

abstained from this were the Gnostics who cared

neither for the physical needs of the poor, nor for

the incarnation, and so refused to participate in the

prayers and the Eucharistic tithe offering, unwilling

as they were to take the bread in their hands and

affirm the words of consecration spoken over it.

With that in mind, we now revisit Ignatius,

including this time the preceding sentence that

contextualizes his statement:

They have no regard for love; no care for the

widow, or the orphan, or the oppressed; of the

bond, or of the free; of the hungry, or of the

49 The Didascalia Apostolorum in English, Margaret Dunlop

Gibson, M.R.A.S, LL.D. translator, 1903, 53. 50 Didascalia, 63.


10

thirsty. They abstain from the Eucharist and

from prayer, because they confess not the

Eucharist to be the flesh of our Saviour Jesus

Christ, which suffered for our sins. (Smyrnæans,

6-7).

The Roman apologist relies exclusively upon the

italicized sentence, assuming incorrectly that “the

Eucharist” from which the heretics abstain refers to

the consecrated elements of the Supper. Thus,

Ignatius’ words are taken to mean that the heretics

did not acknowledge the “truth” of

transubstantiation. Many a gullible Protestant has

surrendered at this point, fearing to be counted

among the heretics, and converted to Rome.

We owe it to Ignatius, however, to understand

him in his native context, in the simplicity of his

own sub-apostolic liturgy, in which “the Eucharist

and prayer” from which the heretics abstained

refers to the tithe for the widow, the orphan, and the

oppressed, offered along with grateful prayers for

created goods from the harvest. The offering

occurred prior to the consecration, and—please

note—the confession that the bread is Christ’s flesh

which suffered, is actually Ignatius’ reference to the

consecration spoken after the Eucharist was

distributed: “This is My body, broken…”. Thus,

Ignatius’ words are properly understood to mean

that the heretics did not participate in the tithe

offerings and prayer, because they had no regard for

the poor, and refused to recite the consecration,

because they had no regard for Christ’s body.

In sum, if we read Ignatius through the lens of a

medieval liturgy, in which “the Eucharist” refers to

the Supper, then he appears to affirm Rome’s

precious doctrine of transubstantiation, and the

heretics are they who refuse to affirm the “real

presence.” But if we read him in his own context, in

which his first reference to “the Eucharist and

prayer” refers to the tithe offered with prayers of

thanksgiving (εὐχαριστίας), and his second

reference to “the Eucharist” refers to unconsecrated

bread taken from the tithe and distributed for the

Supper, then the heretics are they who refuse to

provide for the poor and refuse as well to join in the

corporate recitation of Jesus’ consecratory words.

This is consistent with the early liturgy51 and is

essentially the same liturgy evangelical Protestants

celebrate today: after the offertory, bread and wine

are distributed, and taking them in our hands, we

affirm corporately that Jesus had a real body that

suffered, real blood that was shed.

The Misconstrued “Evidence” from Cyprian of

Carthage (253 AD)

In his explanation of the ancient liturgy, Cyprian

insisted, “the Lord’s passion is the sacrifice which

we offer” (Epistle 62, 17). From a medieval

perspective, Cyprian appears to advocate for a

liturgical offering of the literal body and blood of

Christ, but as noted above, in the same epistle, he

also insisted that Christ’s disciples could not drink

the blood of Christ until after the cross. That being

the case, in Cyprian’s mind Jesus could not have

had His own blood in the cup the night before he

died. How then could Cyprian literally offer “the

Lord’s passion” sacrificially while maintaining that

Christ’s blood was not really in the cup?

The answer is found in Cyprian’s tendency to

combine the concept of “offer” and

“commemorate,” as seen in his letters.* In Cyprian’s

mind, “to offer” the passion of a martyr or the good

work of a brother was “to celebrate” or “to

commemorate,” and memorialize the martyr’s death

or the brother’s labors with a sacrificial offering.

We “offer sacrifices for them” to “celebrate the[ir]

passions…in the annual commemoration” (Epistle

33, 3). On the anniversaries of their deaths

“we…celebrate their commemoration among the

memorials of the martyrs…and there are celebrated

here by us oblations and sacrifices for their

commemorations…” (Epistle 36, 2). The martyr

51 Compare Irenæus in which the bread becomes the Eucharist

when it is tithed (Against Heresies IV.18.5), and then the

Eucharist becomes the body and blood of Christ when it is

consecrated (Against Heresies V.2.3). See also Tertullian who

chastises those who skipped the sacrificial offerings of the

Eucharist, and only showed up for the Supper (On Prayer,

19). * No doubt influenced by an ancient Latin rendering of Tobit

12:12, in which “I brought the remembrance of your prayer”

(ἐγὼ προσήγαγον τὸ μνημόσυνον τῆς προσευχῆς) in Greek is

rendered “I offered the remembrance of your prayer” (ego

obtuli memoriam orationis) in Latin. See Treatise 4, 33

(Migne, PL, 4:540) and Treatise 7, 10 (Migne, PL, 4:588-

589).


11

“which affords an example to the brotherhood both

of courage and of faith, ought to be offered up when

the brethren are present” (Epistle 57, 4). Out of

gratitude for the generosity of their brethren, and

“in return for their good work,” the needy were

encouraged to “present them in your sacrifices and

prayers,” and “to remember [them] in your

supplications and prayers” (Epistle 59, 4).

Contrarily, the brother who died in disobedience

would not be so memorialized: “no offering should

be made for him, nor any sacrifice be celebrated for

his repose” (Epistle 65, 2).

All of these illustrate Cyprian’s propensity for

conflating “offer” and “commemorate,” implying

that he was “offering” in the sacrifices that which

he was really only “commemorating” in them, be it

the good works of the brethren, the passions of the

martyrs on their anniversaries, or the crucifixion

itself. The immediate context of his wording makes

the very point: “we make mention of His passion in

all sacrifices,” and “we offer the cup in

commemoration of the Lord and of His passion”

(Epistle 62, 17). Cyprian’s admonition in Epistle

62—“the Lord’s passion is the sacrifice which we

offer”—is therefore understood in the same sense

that the passion of the martyr is “offered up” in the

sacrifices, or the labors of the saints are “presented”

in the offerings. Cyprian had not offered “the

Lord’s passion” at all. He had merely

commemorated it, both in the Eucharist offerings

before the consecration, and in the Supper that

immediately followed it, just as Evangelicals do

today.

The Redacted “Evidence” from Irenæus of Lyons

(190 AD)

In a commonly accepted translation of Irenæus’

voluminous work, Against Heresies, he appears to

affirm an ancient liturgical offering of “flesh and

spirit” to the Father in the Eucharist because the

bread takes on a heavenly reality at the

consecration, ostensibly becoming the real body and

blood of Christ:

For we offer to Him His own, announcing

consistently the fellowship and union of the

flesh and Spirit. For as the bread, which is

produced from the earth, when it receives the

invocation (επικλυσιν, epiclusin) of God, is no

longer common bread, but the Eucharist,

consisting of two realities, earthly and heavenly;

so also our bodies, when they receive the

Eucharist, are no longer corruptible, having the

hope of the resurrection to eternity. (Against

Heresies, 4, 18.5)

By these words Irenæus appears to describe a

Eucharist offering in which the bread and wine

consist of “two realities” at the invocation, attesting

to “the union of the flesh and spirit,” and an

offering of the literal body and blood of Christ to

the Father. If Irenæus had actually written that, we

suppose the Roman apologist might very well have

proved the ancient origins of his medieval liturgy.

But the words do not belong to Irenæus. What the

translators have presented to us is a carefully crafted

redaction, intended to create the impression that the

medieval liturgy is much older than it really is.

Again, a little history will serve us well.

The context of Irenæus’ statement on “the

fellowship and union of the flesh and spirit” was not

the Supper, but the tithe, an offering of created food

to the Father. The heretics believed spiritual things

and created things could not interact, and so denied

both that Jesus had taken on a body and that His

Father had created the world. But something had

changed since Ignatius’ day, and the Gnostics were

no longer abstaining “from the Eucharist and from

prayer.” They were now imitating the Christian

liturgy, offering created food in their tithes to the

Father, something Irenæus found to be inconsistent

and appalling (4, 18.4). His refutation focused

entirely on Jesus’ interaction with created food.

Jesus had thanked His Father for created food,

proving that His Father had created it (3, 11.5).

Christ’s hunger for created food proved “that He

was a real and substantial man” before the

crucifixion (5, 21.2), and His promise to eat created

food again proved that He remained incarnate

thereafter, “for to drink of that which flows from the

vine pertains to flesh, and not spirit” (5, 33.1). The

Gnostics were therefore doubly inconsistent to offer

created food in their tithes to the Father Who (they

claimed) had not created it, in imitation of Jesus

Who (they claimed) did not need it and would not

have thanked Him for it. Christians, on the other

hand, knew very well that they were offering to God

the things He Himself had created, anticipating the


12

day when they would eat and drink again with His

Son, thereby “announcing consistently the

fellowship and union of the flesh and spirit” with

their tithes (4, 18.5). It was not the consecrated food

of the Supper, but rather the unconsecrated food of

the Eucharist, that affirmed both truths and refuted

the heretics. The student who reads Irenæus through

a medieval lens will miss that subtlety and

conclude, invalidly, that Irenæus affirmed the union

of flesh and spirit, and therefore the real presence of

Christ, by offering consecrated food to the Father.

The context of Irenæus’ statement on the “two

realities” was also the tithe offering, not the Supper.

He had spent the preceding chapter proving that the

prophecy of an offering of “a pure sacrifice” by the

Gentiles (Malachi 1:11) had been fulfilled in the

tithe offerings of the Church (4, 17.5), and arrived

at the obvious conclusion: “We are bound,

therefore, to offer to God the first-fruits of His

creation” (4, 18.1). The heart of Irenæus’ argument

was the teaching of the prophet who said the Lord

summons the tithe to Himself (Malachi 3:10).

Because the first-fruits of the earth were set aside

“for the Lord’s purposes” (4, 18.2), offered to Him

on a heavenly altar (4, 18.6), they took on a

heavenly reality the moment they were summoned

by Him, becoming the tithe offering, which is to

say, becoming the Eucharist. In truth, what Irenæus

wrote was not that the bread took on a heavenly

reality when it received the invocation, but rather

that it took on a heavenly reality when it received

the summons, that is, when it became a tithe: “For

as the bread, which is produced from the earth,

when it receives the summons (έκκλησιν, ecclusin)52

of God, is no longer common bread, but the

Eucharist, consisting of two realities, earthly and

heavenly….”§

Until the 18th century, Irenæus’ original work had

been lost to history, and Against Heresies was only

available in a poor Latin transcription in which the

bread was alleged to change when it received the

52 Migne, PG, 7:1028. § See A Library of the Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church,

Anterior to the Division of the East and West, Volume 42,

Five Books of S. Irenaeus Bishop of Lyons Against Heresies,

Rev. John Keble, M.A., translator, James Parker & Col., 1872,

361.

“invocationem Dei,”53 that is, “the invocation of

God.” In 1743, Irenæus’ Greek entered circulation

and corrected that Latin transcription error. It would

be a gross understatement to say the correction was

unwelcome. Translators and scholars were

confronted with the fact that Irenæus had not

written “επικλυσιν του Θεού” (invocation of God)

in reference to the Supper as they had expected, but

rather had written “έκκλησιν του Θεού” (summons

of God) in reference to the tithe. A “real” change in

the nature of the bread at the moment it becomes a

tithe offering upended the medieval liturgy in which

the bread is alleged to undergo a “real” change at

the consecration. Scholars assured themselves that

the difference was negligible and “επικλυσιν

(epiclusin)” must surely be what Irenæus had

meant.54

To bring Irenæus’ Greek back into conformity

with the errant Latin, and thus back into conformity

with the medieval liturgy, translators discretely

substituted “επικλυσιν (epiclusin),” or “invocation,”

where Irenæus had written “έκκλησιν (ecclesin)” or

“summons.”55 That illicit redaction is now widely

accepted as authoritative by the translators,

profoundly changing the meaning of Irenæus’

simple words, “we offer to Him His own.” If

Irenæus is read in his native context, the words

mean precisely what we would expect: “we offer to

Him His own [created food]” in the tithe, prior to

the consecration. The earthly bread takes on a

heavenly reality because it is set aside to feed the

poor. However, if we accept the illicit redaction,

Irenæus is made to say “we offer to Him His own

[Son]” in the Supper, after the consecration, and the

earthly bread takes on a heavenly reality because it

becomes Christ’s body, backloading into Irenæus’

2nd century tithe offering a medieval sacrifice of the

“real presence” of the body and blood of Christ.

53 Divi Irenæi Græci Scriptoris, Nicolai Gallasi, editor, 1700,

264. 54 Sancti Patris Irenæi Scripta Anecdota, Græca & Latine,

Grabe, Johannes Ernesti, editor (Hagæ Comitum et Francofurti

ad Moenum, 1743, preface 13. 55 See James Beaven, M.A., An Account of the Life and

Writings of S. Irenæus, 1841, 184; Migne (1857), PG, 7:

1028n, where he substitutes “επικλυσιν” as the “preferred”

reading; Harvey, W. Wigan (1857), 205n-206, “επικλυσιν is

evidently the reading followed by the [Latin] translator, and is

that which the sense requires.”


13

The effect of such an abusive treatment of

Irenæus is profoundly damaging to history and to

the apostolic liturgy of the early Church. Harnack’s

rejection of the figurative language of the ancient

writers, for example, is founded upon that illicit

redaction, from which he argues that the figurative,

symbolic language of antiquity cannot possibly

mean what it appears to say:

Accordingly, the distinction of a symbolic and

realistic conception of the Supper is altogether

to be rejected; … The anti-Gnostic Fathers

acknowledged that the consecrated food

consisted of two things, an earthly (the

elements) and a heavenly (the real body of

Christ). They thus saw in the sacrament a

guarantee of the union between spirit and

flesh, which the gnostics denied.56

It is evident that Harnack’s objection to the

nonliteral interpretation of the early liturgy is based

entirely on a redacted version of Irenæus’ Greek.

Yet the unredacted original shows that Irenæus had

the “real” change occurring prior to the

consecration and knew absolutely nothing of the

“real” presence of Christ in the Supper. It is sad to

say, but the shameful centuries-long academic

revision of Irenæus is illustrative of the ivory tower

echo chamber in which the early liturgy is analyzed,

digested, and transformed before it is regurgitated

for our consumption. We have noted that Schaff

relied on Nyssa (4th century) to reinterpret Irenæus

(2nd century); Harvey used Basil (4th century) to

overturn Justin (2nd century) and therewith to

embrace the intentional translation error in Irenæus;

Stone justified his own rejection of the ancient,

symbolic, figurative language based on Harnack’s

conclusion;57 and Kelly acknowledged that he, too,

is “deeply indebted” to him.58 And yet Harnack’s

conclusion rests entirely upon a lie.

Once the fog of academia has been cleared away,

Irenæus acknowledges what is essentially a

Protestant evangelical liturgy: the Eucharist

(thanksgiving) tithe is offered “in a pure mind, and

in faith without hypocrisy, in well-grounded hope,

in fervent love,” and “so also our bodies, when they

56 Harnack, 145. 57 Stone, 30. 58 Kelly, vi.

receive the Eucharist” as a meal with that same

disposition, “are no longer corruptible, having the

hope of the resurrection to eternity” (4, 18.4). The

tithe of our first fruits is offered in faith, hope, and

love, and then when the bread is consecrated, it is

received with that same faith, hope, and love, with

an eye toward the promised resurrection. There is

no transubstantiation involved in the Supper Jesus

instituted, neither in the Scriptures nor in Irenæus’

rendition of it. And certainly, no liturgical sacrifice

of the “real presence” of Christ to the Father.

Something to Consider

Given the centuries-long systematic attempt by

scholars and translators to subordinate the ancient,

Biblical, apostolic liturgy to the superstitious,

medieval liturgy of Rome, Francis Chan can be

forgiven for not knowing better. The deception for

which he has fallen is as subtle as it is expansive.

The myth of a universal belief in the “real” literal

presence of Christ in the Supper—from the

Apostolic era through the Reformation—has

achieved legitimacy and notoriety solely on account

of its frequent repetition by each successive

generation of scholars. Its validity is maintained in

an echo chamber located in the penthouse of an

ivory tower that has long since lost touch with the

original writings upon which it was allegedly based,

and is substantiated with corrupted evidence tainted

by the scholars themselves. They used that tainted

evidence to corroborate their own conclusions and

interpret the rest of the data that they have not yet

tainted, convincing themselves and others that the

ancient liturgy was really the same as the medieval

monstrosity that prevailed in the dark ages. They

revised, redacted and rewrote the ancient liturgy to

make it comply with their preconceptions and

conform it to an illicit, unbiblical medieval liturgy

of Rome’s imagination. By this means, for well

over a thousand years, they have read both an

offering and a meal of Christ’s “real,” “literal” body

and blood back into the writings of the early

Christians who insisted emphatically, to the

contrary, that they were neither offering Christ’s

body and blood, nor “literally” eating it. The real

evidence, long since discarded by its custodians,

cries out to us from the base of the ivory tower,

asking for another hearing, and that the case be

remanded to a more reputable court. For three


14

hundred years the early writers insisted, repeatedly,

that they received in the Supper the body and blood

of Christ by faith, digesting with their minds what

the symbols suggested to their senses. For a

millennium, the obvious idolatry of kneeling before

the “real presence” in the elements had not even

entered their minds. The bread and wine they

consecrated and consumed with their believing

brethren as they proclaimed “the Lord’s death till he

come” (1 Corinthians 11:26), were but symbols,

figures, types, metaphors, enigmas, similitudes,

antitypes, allegories, icons, images or likenesses of

the real body and blood of Christ, received in the

heart by faith, not with the mouth. And that, dear

Francis, is “something to consider.”

Brief Book Reviews by Thomas W. Juodaitis Cruising Through Collapse: a Family’s Story of

Survival by Roy Timpe, 2020, 232 pages, self-

published, available through Amazon.

This novel by Roy Timpe who has over thirty

years of experience sailing and cruising boats in the

Chesapeake Bay, the Intercoastal Waterways, and

the Bahamas draws on the author’s experience as he

sets the novel in a post-collapse (both economic and

societal) world. The main characters in the novel

are the Newman family – Harold, a pharmaceutical

process engineer, his wife Gwen, and their son

Allan and daughter Wendy.

As the novel opens, Harold is checking his fish

traps in tidal flats in one of the cays in the Bahamas,

when he sees another man destroying his traps.

“Harold’s family depended upon the conch and fish

gathered off this tidal flat and others like it for their

survival. He called to the man, ‘Hey! Stop that!

Stop! Stop now!” The man shouts back in a foreign

language and begins to approach Harold, and as he

comes closer pulls out a knife. In this ordeal, Harold

kills the man. Was it self-defense?

As the novel progresses, the reader learns that

there have been electro-magnetic pulses, which

have taken out the power grid and led to economic

collapse, which then led to societal collapse, leaving

people to fend for themselves. Harold and his

family had been sailing on their 44-foot boat the E.

Willers before the event, having prepared for

collapse. Before leaving the Bahamas, they pick up

a passenger, Montez, who had been left to harvest

Cascarilla bark. Montez happens to have a radio

that has survived the EMP, and they stumble upon a

broadcast of a sermon from the French Huguenot

Church out of Charleston, South Carolina by Pastor

Dabs.

It turns out that the people in Charleston were

starting to rebuild some sort of society based upon

Scriptural principles, encouraged and led by Pastor

Dabs, whose name is D’Aubigne, and he is related

to the church historian of the Reformation. Further,

he not only broadcasts his sermons to whomever

can receive the signals, but he also teaches about

Biblical principles of government and economy.

The Newmans and their friend Montez decide to set

sail for Charleston.

What is interesting about this novel is that the

author discusses many Biblical issues throughout,

which may be a way to get others to think – others

that won’t read theology or philosophy. Mr. Timpe

discusses such ideas as the Gospel (imputed

righteousness in justification), the doctrine of the

lesser magistrates, and Biblical epistemology, just

to name a few. Furthermore, it works out in fiction

– post-apocalyptic fiction at that – what a family

may go through trying to live by Scriptural

principles. And as the author wrote to me, “I hope

that people who would not read an essay or Trinity

Review newsletter may read a fiction story and get

exposed to these ideas.”

The Doctrine of the Lesser Magistrates: A Proper

Resistance to Tyranny and a Repudiation of

Unlimited Obedience to Civil Government by

Matthew J. Trewella, 2013, 115 pages, available at

DefyTyrants.com.

This is a good primer on the doctrine of the lesser

magistrate and how it can be applied. Though

written in 2013, it is certainly apropos for today.

The chapters are brief but to the point with plenty of

references. Chapters include: “Introduction,” “The

Doctrine Defined,” “Rooted in Interposition,” “All

Authority is Delegated,” “The Duty of Lesser

Magistrates,” “The Objective Standard for Law,”

“The Rule of Law and the Lesser Magistrates,”

“Magdeburg and the Lesser Magistrates,” “John

Knox, Holy Scripture, and the Lesser Magistrates,”

“When Lesser Magistrates Go Rogue,” “The

Response of the Tyrannical Higher Magistrate,”

“The Role of the People,” and “The Lesser


15

Magistrate Doctrine in Our Day.” There are five

Appendices: “An Examination of Romans 13

(Three Convincing Proofs that Romans 13 Does

NOT Teach Unlimited Obedience to the Civil

Government),” “The Laws of a Nation Should

Mirror the Law and Justice of God,” “The Police

Officer as Lesser Magistrate,” “The Interposition of

the Military: Sodomy, a Rogue Congress, and the

Rule of Law,” and “A Biblical Response to Those

who say We Should Disarm; to Those who Teach

Pacificism; to Those who Think the Scriptures have

Nothing to say about Arms.” Also included are a

Summary of the Doctrine, a Bibliography, and a

Further Reading section. Trewella does an excellent

job of defining terms and using primary sources.

Here is an excellent excerpt from “The Rule of

Law and the Lesser Magistrate”:

The duty to resist unjust law is the product of

Christian thought. Our loyalty is to Christ first – not

man, not the State. So when the civil government

makes unjust or immoral laws or policies, we obey

Christ, not the State. Christianity acts as a check to

tyranny. The whole of society should be thankful for

the preservation of liberty that Christianity

engenders. Christians are the best of citizens. We

obey the State and are productive in commerce. We

disobey the State only when they make unjust or

immoral law. We have a salvific affect upon society

as a whole. …

When the lesser magistrates are accused of

insubordination or anarchy because they interpose

against bad law, the counterfeit man-made “rule of

law” will be heralded by the Statists. They will sing

and herald the mantra – “we must obey the rule of

law!” But if the rule of law itself is unjust and

immoral, then what virtue is there in supporting it?

To do so is to stand the true rule of law on its head.

Men should not respect “the rule of law” just

because “it’s the rule of law,” rather we respect it

because as Blackstone said – it does not “contradict”

the law of God. This is why Western Civilization

respected the rule of law for nearly 1500 years,

precisely because it was based upon the law of God.

(28-29, emphasis original)

From “Magdeburg and the Lesser Magistrates”

quoting the Magdeburg Confession (1550),

translated by Matthew Colvin, Createspace

Publishing, 2012, 57:

The Magistrate is an ordinance of God for the

honor to good works, and a terror to evil works

(Romans 13). Therefore when he begins to be a

terror to good works and honor to evil, there is no

longer in him, because he does thus, the ordinance of

God, but the ordinance of the devil. And he who

resists such works, does not resist the ordinance of

God, but the ordinance of the devil.

And in Trewalla’s commentary he writes, “In their

arguments, the pastors declare the idea of unlimited

obedience to the State as ‘an invention of the devil’

(68)” (34, emphasis original).

In Trewella’s concluding chapter, “The Lesser

Magistrate Doctrine in Our Day,” he writes, “The

American Church and the American people need to

repent for having spurned the law of God. If we do

not, we will one day see what a taskmaster the

Statists or Islamists are, and rue the day we threw

off His rule. If the lesser magistrates do not stand

against the tyranny and injustice of this Federal

beast, America is doomed” (69). Very sobering

words for very sobering times.

The Hedonism and Homosexuality of John Piper

and Sam Alberry, Enoch Burke, 2020, 165 pages,

Burke Publishing. Chapters include: “Introduction,”

“Before We Begin: Do Words Matter?” Then two

chapters devoted to John Piper – “John Piper:

Preaching Mysticism, Not Christ” and “Preaching

Christ, Not Mysticism.” Next are two chapters on

Sam Allberry – “Sam Allberry: Turning Grace Into

Lasciviousness” and “Rescuing Grace From

Lasciviousness.” Finally, a section of application

and a conclusion – “Holiness Not Hedonism,”

“Taking a Look at Ourselves,” and “Conclusion:

Seven Things to Do to Save Yourself.” There are

Endnotes and an Index.

The author, a language and history teacher at the

middle school level (second-level) for over 10 years

lives in Castlebar, Ireland, has a Bachelor of

Theological Studies (TNARS), a BA in History and

Politics, and a Masters in Education (NUI Galway).

Burke’s book is endorsed by ES William, author of

The New Calvinists, an elder at Metropolitan

Tabernacle (“Spurgeon’s Church”) in London.

What I appreciate about Mr. Burke’s book is that

he not only points out the errors of Piper and

Allberry, but he also positively gives the Scriptural

truth – as you may see from the titles of the chapters


16

listed above. I also especially appreciated his first

chapter, “Before We Begin: Do Words Matter?”

demonstrating that, Yes, they do, and he shows the

reader from the Scriptures. Those of us familiar

with the work of The Trinity Foundation will

appreciate this emphasis upon the importance of

words (ideas), and Gordon Clark’s emphasis on

definition – “define or discard!” An excerpt from

the last section of that chapter:

Words Matter

Words do matter. To depart from the language of the

Scripture is to depart from the historic doctrine of

the Reformers and the authority of Scripture. One’s

use of words reveals one’s respect, or lack thereof,

for the only infallible source of truth: every word of

God (Mt. 4:4). Piper’s introduction of a new term

into the church, and a mystical and sensual one at

that, signifies the rejection of the clarity and

sufficiency of Scripture. No longer does the

Christian have enough in the Bible to teach him how

God would have him live: instead he needs a copy of

Desiring God. In the company of men such as C. S.

Lewis, Scripture becomes merely a means to an end,

with the end being a mystical pursuit of emotion

which bears no resemblance to the Christianity of

the Bible (Gal. 1:6-7).

The prophet Isaiah, speaking during a time of

consternation and upheaval in the land of Israel,

faced the same fantasy-peddlers that we do today:

“And when they shall say unto you, Seek unto them

that have familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep,

and that mutter: should not a people seek unto their

God?” (Isaiah 8:19a). Isaiah rejected the mysticism

proffered to him because he has something better:

the sure words of the living God. To him, indulgence

in witchcraft and wizardry was an absurdity to be

shunned, as well as a portent of deep darkness: “To

the law and to the testimony: if they speak not

according to this word, it is because there is no light

in them” (Isa. 8:20). Words are important. That

one’s words accord with God’s words is the only

real indication of light in the soul. If one’s words do

not accord with God’s words, Scripture itself

testifies that only perpetual darkness awaits the soul

(Isa. 8:22b). (28-29)

I did not know much about Sam Allberry, a same-

sex attracted Anglican, promoted heavily by Piper

and others in the Gospel Coalition, so this was eye-

opening for me. In Burke’s chapter on Allberry,

“Turning Grace Into Lasciviousness,” he writes,

Rather, this attitude which Allberry displays

toward this sin [sodomy / homosexuality] in his

book [Is God Anti-Gay?] is somewhat trivial. This is

seen, for example, in his chapter on “Homosexuality

and the Christian”: “All of us experience fallen

sexual desires,…it is not un-Christian to experience

same-sex attraction any more than it is un-Christian

to get sick” (34). At best, this is a gravely

misleading statement on the part of Allberry,

considering the judgment meted out on sodomy in

the Scripture. Homosexuality, in all its forms, is to

be shunned by the believer and Scripture is clear that

evil desires constitute wickedness (Pr. 21:10). At

worst, Allberry’s comment is a repudiation of the

Christian doctrine of sin. (79)

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